


should you ever leave me (life would still go on believe me)

by spock



Category: Animal Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 02, Alternate Season/Series 03, Canon Divergence, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-14 19:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16918614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: Deran laughs and ducks his head, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. “You pitched camp in my yard, kid.”





	should you ever leave me (life would still go on believe me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dsidhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsidhe/gifts).



Adrian gets to the strand right as the sun breaks over the hills to the east. He’s going to get in a few sets if it kills him, something that damn well might happen given how twisted up his head’s been. He knows that he needs to shake everything that’s chasing him before he gets on his board and drowns himself, and so he walks.

He walks, and walks, and doesn’t even realize the day’s left him until the mottled-red glare of the setting sun catches his eye off its reflection in the water. Then it hits him all at once, how tired he is from having wandered the day away, if not everything else that’s been on his mind.

No better off than he’d been when he’d arrived on the beach morning, Adrian keeps on walking further down the coast until he’s a long ways from any light that isn’t just a diffused beam from the moon. Autumn’s finally settled into Oceanside, a sharp bite to the wind coming off the sea that has Adrian missing Bondi, Brighton — all the warm Atlantic water he’s known, all of it so far from the Pacific that keeps throwing mist into his face as he wanders along the edge of it in the dark.

Eventually his legs start threatening to give out, but he’s reached a stretch of sand that looks just as good as any. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and thumbs on the flashlight to inspect for crabs or glass or worse, and then plants his board deep into the sand. He drops his backpack at his feet and sits down next to it, unzipping the main section and pulling out a hoodie that he tugs over the zip-up he’s already got on.

It’s not the first time he’s camped out on the beach with nothing but the sky above him, not by a long shot. The strand’s served as a hotel to many a surfer, and Adrian knows that this isn’t likely to be the last time he checks in to stay.

Zipping his backpack up, Adrian’s barely got the thing under his head before he’s out for the night.

* * *

He’s got this vague, half-awareness of the fingers stroking through his hair, nails scratching lightly across his scalp. It’s nice.

Adrian rolls his neck and feels the sun against his face. The waves are near-deafening in the otherwise quiet of the morning, and he can practically taste them by smell. It comes back to him that he slept outside last night.

“Some things really don’t change,” a voice says. A voice that Adrian knows, but hasn’t heard in a hot minute. One he didn’t exactly part on good terms with.

His eyes blink open and he stares up at Deran. All Adrian can make out is the shape of his head, the drape of his hair, so much longer than it’d been the last time Adrian had seen him, a tangible reminder of the space between then and now. His face is shadowed by the sun where it’s positioned just behind him, but Adrian would know it anywhere. Nobody’s ever played with Adrian’s hair as well as Deran’s been known to, those times when Deran had been in the right mood for it.

“The fuck,” Adrian says. His lips are dry and his tongue doesn’t do much of a job at wetting them, chapped from sleep or the ocean air both.

Deran laughs and ducks his head, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. “You pitched camp in my yard, kid.”

Adrian sits up, dislodging Deran’s hand. He looks around and sees a stretch a beach to either side of him, the ocean in front of it. “Yard?” He turns back to Deran, able to see his face now. He looks the same but — there’s something different, too.

“Yeah,” he says, nods his head at Adrian’s board a few yards away from them. “Went to make coffee and spotted some of Tao’s finest out the window.” Deran reaches out to shove Adrian’s shoulder, though calling it a shove is being generous. He’s gentle, so gentle, like he isn’t sure if it’s allowed. “That, and some redheaded gremlin curled up in a ball. Not that many of those in Oceanside, for one. Two, I heard rumor that you were back in town.” A pause, as if he’s realized he’s drifted into giving an explanation to a question Adrian didn’t ask. “Not that I’d seen you or thought you’d want to see me, just — heard it from the guys, you know.”

Adrian doesn’t have it in him to apologize for keeping away. “Yeah,” he says. “Been busy.” Deran could have called the cops on him though, and he’s clearly making an effort to be friendly. Adrian figures the least he can do is offer some kind of olive branch. “I didn’t know Smurf had beachfront shit now.”

Deran frowns, and then smiles, eyes focused somewhere around Adrian’s legs instead of his face all of a sudden. “She doesn’t,” he says. “It’s all mine.”

He pats the sand off the seat of his boxers as he stands. Adrian realizes that they’re the only thing Deran’s got on. He extends a hand to Adrian and jerks his chin over his shoulder to a set of stairs that lead up to a deck and house directly above the beach. “C’mon, I’ll let you bum a shower.”

Adrian takes his hand and allows himself to be pulled up. Deran grabs and shoulders Adrian’s backpack before Adrian thinks to, so Adrian makes to grab his board.

“Nah, leave it,” Deran instructs him. “This is the bougie side; I’m by Chair Six. Your shit is safe.” Adrian shrugs and takes his word for it, following Deran to the stairs.

Continuing, Deran says, “Fucking neighborhood association’s got me by the balls with these homeowner fees, man. We’ve got private security and shit because they don’t wanna pollute the beach with floodlights, can you believe it?”

As they climb, Adrian is afforded a direct view of Deran’s ass as it flexes and shifts behind the thin black fabric of his underwear. “Security can’t be that good,” Adrian says. “I managed to sneak in. Floods woulda served them better.”

They step level with Deran’s deck and he turns to look at Adrian over his shoulder, a conspiratory smile spread across his face. Adrian isn’t able to keep himself from returning it. It’s the first time he can remember smiling, really smiling, like he means it, in a while.

“Bougie-ass places never were good at keeping kids from our neighborhood out, were they? How else do you think I managed to snag this place?”

Stepping through the back door and into the kitchen, Adrian has to admit that it certainly is something. It being beachfront is plenty enough for Adrian, but the house itself is a gorgeous wooden thing. Deran’s done alright for himself since their relationship — such as it had been — came to its bitter conclusion, that’s for sure. Adrian whistles in appreciation.

Deran’s eyes slide away from Adrian’s face and drop down to his own feet as he takes the few steps to the kitchen’s island, dropping Adrian’s backpack onto the counter. “Coffee?” he asks.

Adrian nods. “Sure,” he says. “Shower?”

“Shit, right. Here, I’ll show you,” Deran says, and then leads the way. The house isn’t big enough that Adrian might need a guide, but he lets Deran revel in it a little, figuring that he deserves to show off like a proper homeowner. He follows after him, led into what has to be the master bedroom, back through to the bathroom attached to it.

Deran hops up to sit on the counter by the sink and points to a glass box with one of those rain shower heads hovering above it.

Adrian looks at him, expecting Deran to leave now, but he stays seated where he is, almost expectant. There’s a part of Adrian’s that’s missed this, the way Deran’s entitlement manifests in ways that have always served to cut through the bullshit. Adrian keeps their eye contact for a few more beats before he pulls his outermost hoodie up and off his head.

He tosses it at Deran, figuring that he may as well make himself useful. Adrian doesn’t want to throw his shit all over Deran’s floor, even if Deran never had been one to grant Adrian the same courtesy.

Deran catches it in the air. “I think this is Craig’s,” he says, nodding at the black mass as he folds it in his lap, no longer meeting Adrian’s gaze.

It gives Adrian pause. “Probably jacked it from you after you lifted it off him,” is all that Adrian can think to say. It makes sense, Deran used to leave shit at Adrian’s house all the time, and Deran and his brothers failed to maintain any semblance of boundaries, even at the best of times. Borrowing and losing a sweater is nothing. Craig probably assumed he lost the thing himself. Maybe he’d given it to Deran outright. Maybe Deran had loaned it to Adrian, once upon a time. Adrian never thought about how he came to own something nearly three times his own size. There’d been other things on his mind.

He unzips his other hoodie, pulls off the shirt he had on under that. Adrian undoes the fly of his shorts and drags his underwear down as he steps out of them. He throws the whole pile at Deran, who doesn’t bother to catch them this time around.

Adrian walks into the shower and twists on the faucet on. He doesn't bother stepping out of the way of the first shock of cold water that rains down onto him, using the sharp bite of it to wake himself up fully, prove to himself that this isn’t some strange dream. It’s less than a minute before the water heats up to the usual near-scalding sting that Adrian’s always preferred.

"So what have you been up to?" Deran asks, voice raised so that Adrian can hear him over the water.

"Everything and nothing," Adrian answers. It's the truth and a blow-off, which is just about all Adrian feels comfortable sharing. "How about you? What made you buy your own place?"

Washing his hair with Deran’s conditioner, Adrian listens as Deran tells him about pooling all of his savings together to open some bar that Adrian can tell off tone alone Deran’s proud of, even as he tries to undersell it as a dive.

Adrian rinses his hair and starts soaping up his body with his hands, working a lather up under his arms, at his crotch, bending himself in half to wash the crystallized saltwater from the hair on his legs.

“I just,” Deran’s saying, voice wistful and longing, “I wanna do everything on my own. Once I made enough to buy this place, I jumped at it. You don’t even wanna know the price, man, but — fuck it, money don't mean shit, right?"

Body free of soap, Adrian cuts off the water. Money means everything, and he knows Deran knows that. This is Deran trying not to brag, but wanting to impress Adrian. Given how upside down his life has been these last couple of months, Adrian’s happy to have something familiar to lean back on, just one constant in his life that he actually understands and can predict. The way he’s always been able to read Deran as easily as a phonebook is that exactly what he realizes he wants, right then.

He steps out of the shower and looks around. Dripping on the floor, Adrian asks, “Towel?”

Deran jumps off the counter and opens a drawer, pulling one out that he walks over to Adrian and presses against his chest.

“Thanks,” Adrian says.

Deran leans in and kisses him, open-mouthed and slow. Adrian had gargled water in the shower, right around the time that Deran had been outlining how well his bar was doing, because he had a feeling this was coming.

Had _known_ this was coming, Deran being predictable in this regard, if not others.

Adrian lets himself be pushed backward into Deran’s bedroom until he topples down onto the bed. The sheets dry his back, and Deran’s skin his front, towel lost somewhere to the bedroom floor, the only thing between them being the thin fabric of Deran’s underwear.

Their kissing gets increasingly frantic. Adrian digs one hand into the sharp jut of Deran’s shoulder blade, the other reaching up to take a fistful of his hair.

“Fuck,” Deran says, right against Adrian’s lips. He pulls back a little and starts pressing lingering, tight-lipped kisses across the bridge of Adrian’s nose and cheeks before he slithers down the bed and wastes no time in nuzzling Adrian’s dick into his mouth.

Adrian watches with half-lidded eyes as Deran blows him, the view almost as good as the sensation itself. Deran’s always loved sucking him off; even back when they were stupid teenagers who could barely get jacking-off right, somehow Deran had managed this just fine.

He’s got his underwear shoved down, twisted, caught up on his thighs in his haste to get then off so that he could get his hand on his own dick. He’s stroking himself to the pace that he’s using to suck Adrian’s dick, wholly in his element.

It’s all Adrian can do to pet Deran’s hair, cradle his jaw. It’s a been a while since he’s last been with anyone, and so long since he’s been with Deran. He comes down the back of Deran’s throat before he’s even realized that’s what he’s doing.

Deran lets Adrian fall from his mouth but keeps his face pressed close to Adrian’s groin, the bed practically vibrating with the pace Deran’s using to jack himself off. His tongue darts out to lick Adrian’s balls and Adrian twitches at the unexpectedness of it, still sensitive, his dick not even having had enough time to get close to soft yet. It does something for Deran, and he’s coming, making a mess of his hand and what Adrian can see of the sheets at Deran’s hip.

It’s been a while since Adrian’s had the luxury of sleeping on a bed this nice. The softness of it drags him to the brink of sleep nearly as much as the orgasm has. His eyes drift shut. Adrian tells himself that he’s just resting them. The bed shifts, Deran pulling away, and Adrian figures that he’s going to make coffee so that Adrian will perk up and then leave him and his new life be, an old chapter finally closed and ready to be put behind him, with what Adrian imagines Deran sees as the rest of his demons.

A blanket is thrown over him. The warm weight of it drags Adrian the rest of the way down.

He awakens to a note on the pillow next to him, half crumpled and drooled on. It says that Deran’s gone in to the bar to check on some things, that Adrian’s free to hang around until Deran comes back, promising to bring dinner along with him.

A glance at the clock tells Adrian that it’s barely ticked into the afternoon. He takes another shower and then risks a glance inside Deran’s fridge, shocked to find that there’s a decent assortment of fruit there alongside the expected beer and a half-empty carton of eggs. Adrian washes off a bowl-full of strawberries and snacks on them while he tries to figure out Deran’s coffee machine.

Deran’s back before the sun’s even set, something that’s been coming earlier and earlier each day as winter approaches. The front door slams closed behind him and Adrian listens as Deran loudly stomps into the living room, the master bedroom, before Adrian finally takes pity on him and calls out, “Kitchen.”

He appears in the doorway with his hair in his eyes, one hand with a bag of groceries at his hip and the other balancing a pizza in its open palm up by his shoulder. The smile on his face is wide, open, reminds Adrian of Belize and how simple things had been then, how good his life had been. Deran’s always held the promise of that, a wide-open future, for better or worse. Adrian’s starting to wonder if it’s for the better after all.

“I got pizza,” Deran says. He drops the mesh bag with his groceries onto the counter and sets the box down next to it.

Adrian hums. “I can see that,” he notes. “Seems pretty early for a bar to close up. You sure you aren’t running a front?”

Deran runs a hand through his hair to get it off his face, tucking it behind each of his ears. “Hardy, har, har,” he says. “Benefits of being your own boss. I took care of the admin shit and then gave myself the rest of the night off.”

Adrian grabs a couple plates from the same cabinet he’d found the bowl in earlier and hands one off to Deran. “Well look at you.” Adrian grabs a curl of hair at Deran’s shoulder and gives it a tug. “Doing math and shit.”

Deran laughs and shoves him. “Fuck off.”

* * *

They have sex again that night, Deran draping himself over Adrian’s body after they’ve finished. He ties the condom off and stretches his arm out so that he can blindly hang his hand over the edge of the bed and drop it somewhere on the floor.

Adrian falls asleep to the feel of Deran drawing shapes on his chest, his own hand tangled in Deran’s hair.

The next morning is similar to the one before. Adrian wakes up to Deran pressing kisses to his neck, the soft scratch of his beard against Adrian’s skin a reminder that he’s due for a shave himself. He wonders if Deran will let him borrow his razor.

When he asks, Deran tells him to go for it, though he says, “After breakfast,” and then drags Adrian up and out of bed into the cold air of the house, throwing a pair of sweats Adrian’s way before stepping into a pair himself. They’d forgotten to close the windows the night before; the chilled wood has pins and needles throbbing on the bottom of Adrian’s feet with each step he takes.

Deran gets a small fire going in the living room under Adrian’s supervision, while Adrian wishes that he had his-Deran-Craig’s hoodie on as he rubs at the gooseflesh of his arms.

“This is the first time since I’ve gotten the place that I’ve had to use this damn thing,” Deran tells him, nodding to the fireplace.

Adrian hums. “You’re a real, live homeowner now,” he says. Deran gets his shy look and doesn’t say anything else, just smiles at Adrian and then turns back to the fire. Once he’s happy with it, he closes the grate. Adrian trails after him into the kitchen.

The groceries Deran had picked up yesterday had been the fixings for breakfast. Adrian installs himself at the island and rests his head on his arms, drifting off into a light doze as he watches Deran cook.

A mug drops down by his ear, a sharp sound that jerks him back into alertness and he glares at Deran over the rim of it once he brings it up to his mouth for a sip.

“Wake up already, you non,” Deran says, fond, even as his expression reads to Adrian as expressly smug. “Did I wear you out that much?”

Adrian flips him off with a half-smirk that he was to work to keep from turning into a full-on smile. He stands, wanders over to the window with his coffee and stares down to the sea. The waves look choppy, almost threatening, in the grey overcast clouding the sky. As promised, Adrian’s board is exactly where he’d left it the day before.

It’s crazy to think that he’s only been here a day. That they’ve picked this thing of theirs back up, easy as breathing. Because that’s certainly what it feels like, now that Adrian’s back in the thick of it.

He loses track of time watching the water push and pull against the shore, caught up in his thoughts, but he’s aware enough to sense Deran as he comes up behind him. Deran’s arms wrap around his waist, his chin hooking over Adrian’s shoulder. “Food’s done,” he says.

Adrian places a hand over Deran’s at his stomach, knocking back the last dregs of his coffee. He turns in Deran’s arms and hands him the mug. “Let's eat.”

They do, and then Adrian jogs down the steps to retrieve his board before he tempts fate too much. He thinks about getting into the water, even though the waves are for shit, but Deran calls him from the deck and he turns away from the ocean, heading back up to the house.

Deran goes into work and leaves Adrian with run of the house again. When he gets home they make dinner and fuck, Adrian asking Deran afterward about how his brothers and Smurf are doing, how things have been in general since the last time they met up. When Deran asks him the same, Adrian glosses over his life for the last year or so and Deran takes the hint for that it is.

The days bleed into one another, Adrian leaving the house to visit Jess and the baby or going on grocery runs without thinking too much about his credit card balance. One afternoon he gets bored and dicks around on Deran’s laptop, laughing at how eerily similar their taste in porn is.

He spends his time while Deran does admin shit at the bar out on the beach, mostly, watching the water and telling himself that this’ll be the day he gets back into it, until night falls and he walks the long stretch of road to the bar, keeping Deran company until closing time when they can lock up and head home.

Before he knows it he’s been staying with Deran for a week. Adrian doesn’t know what to do with that.

Deran’s never been one to ask questions, to put labels on things, but he seems even less inclined to now, the both of them existing in this space where they’ve been left to pick up the pieces of how quickly things soured between them after Dave. For all that their timing has always sucked, shit always has come been easy to them when they were both on the same page. Their history of falling back into dating and exclusivity being more times than Adrian can keep a running tally of.

But this is the first time in their lives that they haven’t been fully honest and open with one another; Adrian’s fault for suddenly introducing unknowns between them, being unwilling to talk them over with Deran. It’s got Deran treading over eggshells when it comes to him.

For all that he’s one to keep shit to himself with others, he’s never been that way with Adrian, not even when things had been at their worst. Deran makes demands, puts his intentions at Adrian’s feet, it’s just how he operates.

Adrian misses that, the easiness of it, the clarity, but there are things he doesn’t want to have to deal with right now, and so he keeps up the wall that he knows Deran’s sensing, and Deran, for once in their lives, doesn’t push and lets him.

* * *

Deran sends him a text in the afternoon, telling him not to bother coming to the bar that night because they were swamped and he wouldn’t have time to hang with Adrian. Adrian doesn’t think twice about it until the time Deran’s usually home by comes and goes, the clock ticking steadily into the next hour before he hears a key slotting into the lock.

He leans over the arm of the couch to look down the hallway to the front door. Deran steps through it with a lumpy towel bungee-corded around his arm.

“Jesus,” Adrian says. “What happened?” He slides to his feet and walks to meet Deran, taking the key from the door and closing it for him.

“Didn’t get a good enough grip on the keg I was carrying,” Deran says, hissing when Adrian lightly grabs hold of his arm. Adrian drops it and takes Deran by the shoulder instead, leading him into the kitchen. “Fucked up my wrist. Had to walk back because I couldn’t drive with it fucked up like this.”

Adrian shakes his head and says, “You shoulda called me, asshole.” He carefully unwinds Deran’s makeshift cast and whistles at the mottled purple mess he finds. The ziplock of ice that had been inside the towel has melted, so Adrian walks to the freezer and digs around for one of the ice packs he’d seen pushed near the back. “You sure you don’t want to take that to the hospital?” he asks.

“Nah.” Deran nods at him when Adrian passes him two of the packs, setting them down on the counter where he’s resting his wrist. “I’ve got bandages and shit under the sink in the bathroom.”

Adrian leaves to fetch them; Deran shouts so that Adrian can hear him as he crosses the house. “I’m paying my own insurance now; it isn’t worth the fucking co-pay.”

Adrian finds the first aid kit, where Deran said it would be. “Oh,” Deran shouts again, “I think I’ve got some oxy behind the mirror?” Adrian checks for it, and sure enough.

He carries it all back to the kitchen, laughing at the pinched expression on Deran’s face as he stares down at his wrist, lightly pressing one of the ice packs there with a grimace. “Poor baby,” Adrian says, and laughs harder at the threatening look Deran shoots him.

Unspooling some of the bandage, Adrian tells him, “The land’s made you weak, man. Remember that one wave where you practically dislocated your shoulder? You didn’t even break stride.”

Deran spreads his legs apart where he stands, reducing his height, which helps to bring his shoulder lower to the countertop, lessening some of the stress on his wrist. “I was fucking high practically the entire time I surfed,” he nods at the bottle of pills on the counter, “speaking of.”

Adrian cuts a length of the bandage he’d been measuring off and then opens the bottle, shaking one of the pills out. He looks at Deran, considering, before popping it into his own mouth. Before Deran can complain, Adrian leans down and brings their faces together, kissing him. He pushes the pill into Deran’s mouth with his tongue, pulling back a little to press a few shallow kisses to Deran’s lips before shifting to kiss his bearded cheek, finally pulling back for real, standing upright again.

The look on Deran’s face is a little dazed. Adrian can’t help himself from ducking down again to drop a kiss to Deran’s head, mussing up Deran’s hair a bit afterward to soften his unexpected tenderness.

“You always were great at swallowing dry,” Adrian says, aiming a smile at him as he picks up the bandage again.

Deran fails to look impressed at his joke. “Yeah,” he says, “well you’d know, asshole.”

Adrian’s careful to hold the ice pack in place as he binds it to Deran’s wrist. “I’m pretty sure that was a self-own,” he says, “but you’re in pain, so I’ll let it go.”

* * *

Someone knocks at the door the following afternoon, not long after Deran has left to check in at the bar. Adrian had told him that going in with his wrist fucked was playing with fate, but Deran had shrugged him off and promised that he’d leave all the actual barmen shit to the bartenders for once. Adrian answers it, wondering if Deran forgot his keys or maybe changed his mind altogether.

He gets one of the better shocks of his life when he finds Pope stood outside instead.

“Uh,” Adrian says. “Hey, Pope.” His eyes drop down. “You too, Lena. You’re getting big.”

“You staying here?” Pope asks, cutting right to the point. Before Adrian can answer, he continues on, “Deran didn’t mention anything to me.”

“I, uh,” Adrian fumbles with his words, unsure of what Deran would want him to say, of what the truth even is. He’s always gotten along with Craig well enough, but Pope and Baz never failed to put Adrian on edge. With Pope it's even worse, what he’d done to Dave on Deran’s behalf in the forefront of Adrian’s mind.

“Nevermind,” Pope says, ignoring him and his fumbling for an answer. He makes to come into the house and Adrian lets him, moving to the side and closing the door once he and Lena have stepped into the hallway. “Deran here?”

“He’s at work.”

Pope frowns. “I needed him to watch Lena for a bit.”

Adrian can’t tell if he’s fishing. Better to offer than risk pissing him off, Adrian figures. “I’m not doing anything.”

Pope’s lips press into a thin slant and wrinkles line his forehead. Not fishing, then. Adrian’s already put it out there, though, so he figures he may as well go for broke. “Man, you’ve known me since I was like, six, and I’m gay.” He waves his arm at the living room. “Either you leave her with me or you can go see if Craig has magically become someone else since the last time you saw him. I don’t know what you want from me here.”

He still doesn’t look anything close to thrilled, but Pope drops down onto his haunches to speak to Lena, face to face. “You got your phone?” he asks. She nods. “Alright,” he says, “Call me and I’ll come pick you up no matter what. Adrian will take care of you.”

When Pope stands he gives Adrian a nod, but doesn’t threaten him outright, which probably means he trusts that Adrian’s smart enough not to leave her for dead someplace, if only because he’s also smart enough to know that Pope won’t hesitate in killing _him_ , guy-his-brother-fucks or not.

Lena and Pope share one final look before he hugs her to his hip and then he’s gone, leaving Adrian and her alone. The look at one another warily.

“I don’t know if you remember,” Adrian says, “but I’m Adrian.”

She looks at him like he’s an idiot. “I know. Uncle Pope just said.”

Right.

“Right,” he says. “You hungry?”

She nods.

When Deran comes home they’re in the living room watching cartoons off Deran’s Netflix account, Lena sat on the floor between Adrian’s legs as he does his best to give her a fishtail. He can French braid thanks to being a brother of a very demanding older sister, but this one is new to him. Prior to the cartoons, they had watched three different YouTube tutorials; she’s been forcing him to braid over and over again until he finally gets it.

Adrian keeps his gaze focused on her hair even after Deran gives them a bewildered _hello_ , dead-set on this being his last attempt of the evening.

“I forgot to switch over to the guest account,” Adrian tells him. He realizes that he lost track of which side he’d last crossed over and sighs, running a hand from Lena’s scalp to her ends to reset her hair. “Your recommendations are,” he clasps his hands over her ears, “fucked. Sorry, man.”

Lena shakes him off and then stands, running to her uncle. Deran bends over to pick her up, hugging her. “Hey, kid,” he says. He walks them both to the couch and sits down next to Adrian, leaning over to kiss him. Lena’s face is still half-buried in his neck, turned just enough so one eye can still see the tv.

“Sorry,” Deran says. “I thought Pope would catch a clue when I ignored his calls, but I should’ve known he woulda come sniffing around. Shoulda given you a heads up not to get the door.”

Adrian shrugs. “It’s fine,” he offers. “We had fun today, right Lena?” She nods. “Besides, I learned a new braid. Maybe I should take my ass to beauty school.”

Deran’s expression looks caught between fond and like he really wants to give Adrian shit, but knows that making fun of girl shit in front of a little girl isn’t what the Good Uncle should do, especially if they don’t want it getting back to the Dad Uncle that’ll fuck his shit up once he hears. “Wow,” is all Deran says in the end. “That’s some big talk.”

He elbows Lena off of his hip and lets himself slide off the couch onto the floor, shifting to sit between Adrian’s legs.

“Hey!” Lena says. It’s the most animated she’s been since she got here, the cartoons and Adrian’s pathetic attempts at braiding failing to get so much as a smile from her. “No fair,” she insists.

“Yes, fair,” Deran parrots. “Get your own boyfriend.”

Adrian knows they aren’t what any reasonable person would deem as _boyfriends_ , that Deran’s just said it because, well, he’s always been the baby of his family and has never been one to share, especially when it comes to Adrian’s attention.

Boyfriend is easier for his niece to comprehend than Adrian being a guy he’s fucked around with and come close to dating multiple times, for the better part of their lives, before Deran’s internalized whatever-the-fuck had them breaking it off repeatedly, until that one time that it stuck for good — except for how they’ve ended up together again, an unexpectedly, thus-far good run coming as the result of a lot of bad choices Adrian’s made since the last time he’d seen Deran.

He combs his fingers through Deran’s hair, bringing it off his face. “So,” he says, “I’m still shaky on the fishtail, but I mastered the French braid like twenty years ago. That’s all I got; what’s your poison?”

* * *

Adrian uses the spare key to let himself into the house, wondering who the car parked out front belongs to. He’d borrowed Deran’s earlier to go see his sister, the visit from Lena reminding him that he was due to visit his ugly ass nephew again, and had been forced to park it a few doors down when he’d returned to find the unknown car in their spot.

There’s a voice coming from the kitchen. After a second he recognizes it as Craig’s.

“I dunno man,” Craig says. “Sounds like some nester-mooch shit to me. Cody said he’d kicked him out, like, three months ago, to rent the room to somebody else.”

Deran’s silent for a few seconds before he sighs, “I don’t fucking care, man —” and that’s all Adrian can stand to hear before he turns right back around and walks out of the house, careful to close to door as quietly as he can behind him.

He walks, his heart racing, wondering what he should do. He’d wanted to tell Deran himself, has spent the last week and some change trying to figure out _how_.

Adrian runs a hand over his face and has to sit down on a curb a few blocks away to catch his breath. He hasn’t got any of his stuff, his board and backpack still at Deran’s. All he’s got on him is his phone and wallet; he’s wearing a borrowed pair of Deran’s shorts, Deran’s shirt and jacket clothing his back.

Fathomless humiliation burning up his gut aside, Adrian still knows that he’s been in worse situations. Especially recently. He might want to die right now, but this will hardly be the thing that kills him.

He pulls out his phone and calls Jess, asking if he can stay with her for the night. Her voice is hesitant. He starts to say nevermind, that it’s no big deal, but she waves him off and agrees, telling him that he’s welcome to stay a night or two. The stress she puts on the number doesn’t escape him. He pulls up Maps to check where the nearest bus stop is, fishing some singles out from his wallet as he walks towards the street where Apple says it is.

Adrian sets his phone to Do Not Disturb when Deran realizes that he’s not coming back that night. He can’t bring himself to read any of the texts Deran sends him, sliding his thumb across the screen so that he can mute their conversation without having to see or read the notifications for any of it.

Once his two nights are up, Adrian pulls one last favor from Jon, sleeping at his for a night before his girlfriend starts kicking up a stink.

There’s nothing left for him to do after that but head to the strand, back to where this whole mess started. Adrian spends the day wandering up and down the beach, far away from any chair with single digits, waiting for the sun to set so he can find some empty corner to sleep the night away in.

It’s the later part of the afternoon, right around the time Deran should be fully entrenched at the bar, which of course is why Adrian freezes in place as he hears Deran’s voice cut across the low-traffic crowd of the early-winter beach, shouting Adrian’s name.

Adrian stands there and watches as Deran jogs over the sand, heading straight for him.

“What the fuck,” is the first thing Deran says, once he’s close enough for Adrian to hear him. “Where did you go?”

“I don’t,” Adrian isn’t sure what he wants to say. He doesn’t know all of what second-hand gossip Craig’s told him, or what he’s heard direct from their friends. He doesn’t want to lie, so he tells Deran the truth. “I wasn’t just fucking you for a place to stay,” Adrian says, to start.

Deran shakes his head. He raises his hand to push his hair behind his ears before he thinks the better of it, seeming to remember that he’s got the top half tied up into a knot at the back of his head. “I didn’t think that was what you were doing,” he says.

Adrian’s voice cracks when he laughs, the sound of it coming out ugly and forced. “What have you heard?” he asks.

“I haven’t heard shit,” Deran insists. “I’m not about to listen to bullshit about you, man. Just tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“I fucked up,” Adrian says, because that’s the truth of it. Standing suddenly feels like too much of a burden, so he lowers himself down to the sand, turning to look out at the ocean instead of the confusion on Deran’s face.

Deran sits down right next to him, their knees touching. He reaches out for him, and Adrian flinches away. Deran’s hand freezes between them, folding into a fist that he drops down angrily into the sand.

“What the fuck did you do?” Deran asks, and Adrian tells him.

Tells him about giving the circuit one last try, how hard it had been to get real sponsorships going. How easy it was for some of their dealer friends to draw him into drug running, how close he’d come to getting flagged and brought in by the feds.

How failing to take that shipment had landed him with an ass-kicking and a load of debt that had put an end to his surfing career anyway, too far behind in the QS to make an honest run of it for the year, for all his trouble.

About how he’d dealt even at Tao’s after he’d rehired Adrian at Real Surf, and how he’d been thrown out on his ass once Tao realized what he was up to. Going from couch to couch, until he’d used up all the goodwill of everyone he’d known, and ended up sleeping on the beach. The week of that, and how that was why he’d ended up past chair six with his board and a backpack that contained the only things he’d owned anymore.

Deran’s silent through all of it, but the moment Adrian’s finished he says, “I don’t care if that was your deal,” and Adrian wonders if he listened to a word he’d said, or if Deran has spent the entire time waiting for Adrian to say his piece so that he could say his. “I liked you being there. I’ve got money and the spare room, so just, fucking,” he pulls the tie from his hair and shakes it out, scratching at his scalp, aggravated. “Just fucking move in with me for real. Who gives a fuck?”

It’s nice to have vented, to tell Deran everything, like they used to do. Like they’ve always done. For all the secrets they’ve kept from the rest of the world, there’s never been anything they haven’t been able to tell one another, not even when it came to shit that the other didn’t want to hear, like Adrian telling Deran that he’d been seeing other guys, and Deran telling him that he wasn’t gonna let that stand.

“I haven’t got a job, Deran,” Adrian says.

Deran looks at him like he’s grown another head. “Make it your life's work to fuck me and clean, for all I care. Look for another job. Who gives a shit?” He forcefully shoves his hair behind his ears, no longer hiding behind the fall of it across his face. “We were fine before, right? Why does anything have to change?”

Adrian sighs, his raw emotions veering into annoyance. “It wasn’t real Deran. We were both waiting for the other shoe to drop. You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry for the Dave shit.”

“You’re just doing this because you’re a prideful dick,” Deran insists, his expression turning dark. “You can work at the bar; this is such a bullshit argument.”

Scoffing, Adrian makes to stand up, to walk away before he throws a punch or says something he’ll regret, but Deran’s hand shoots out and grabs hold of Adrian’s wrist, tight.

“So I’d owe you my home and my job,” Adrian says, voice flat.

Deran’s face turns into something complicated. Regret, probably, but the anger is still there too, at Adrian for having poked a hole in his goodwill gesture and for himself for not realizing how it’d been built on a sand foundation in the first place, the last thing from impenetrable. Deran didn’t think through what he was saying, what it meant, the implication. Adrian knows that he didn’t, because Deran never really thinks shit through in general, just works on instinct.

It should piss him off, but this is what Deran always does, jumps in before he considers what the consequences may be. It’s what Adrian had done with the drugs, and he’s still dealing with the ramifications of that on his life, sickeningly aware of how much worse it could have been.

But Deran had taken risks too, going against everything he’d been brought, making a go at being legit. Getting out from under all that fucking baggage that came along with it.

Adrian shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you’ve got your own place,” he says, changing the topic, voice alight with a sense of wonder he doesn’t bother to hide. “A _house_. Deran, it’s amazing.” He shakes off the grip Deran’s kept on his wrist and plants that hand on Deran’s knee.

Deran draws his lips into his mouth and lets out a wavering sigh. His hand comes up to rest on top of Adrian’s on his leg. “I’m not,” he starts to say, and then seems to think the better of it. “This isn’t, like, me being selfless or anything. I wanna do this. The fuck do I need with a three bedroom house?”

“Deran, that place is two bedrooms and a fucking closet,” he says, shaking his head. He licks his lips and squeezes Deran’s knee. “So this is like a goods-in-kind thing, yeah?” Adrian asks, a smile fighting its way to the corner of his lips. “You’re looking for a roommate?”

Deran smiles slightly himself, laughing a little. “I’m not inviting Craig to live with me, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“I would hope not,” Adrian says. “Since I expect there to be some dick-sucking involved.”

The shove that hits Adrian is firm enough to rock him off balance, sending him flat onto his back on the sand. Deran crawls over him, eyes narrowed, smirk on his lips. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” he says.

Adrian reaches up to tuck Deran’s hair behind his ears, smoothes the other hand down Deran’s beard. “Sometimes I can’t believe how you are now.”

Deran’s voice goes soft. “What am I like?”

His thumb catches on Deran’s lip and he leaves it there. “I can’t believe what you’ve done for yourself,” Adrian shakes his head. “You’re amazing.”

Deran looks like he’s been struck, guilt and a million other things flitting across his face. Adrian doesn’t like it, he slaps Deran’s cheek lightly, more a tap than anything, and then uses his hands to drag Deran’s face down to his, kissing him right there on the strand.

* * *

At Deran’s insistence, Adrian goes to work with him that night, his first time actually being on the clock.

“Is this you making sure I don’t dip out again while you’re gone?” Adrian asks.

Deran laughs, but it isn’t very convincing. Mumbling, he says, “I may have been looking for an excuse,” before trailing off. Adrian hooks an elbow around his neck and squeezes him to his side as they walk through the back door.

He’s worked bartending gigs more than once or twice in his life, so isn’t anything new. He smiles and chats with people as he fixes their drinks, has longer conversations with surfers he knows from the circuit, the old guys who are usually well into a couple sets by the time Adrian and other young guys hit the beach in the morning.

The crowd that gravitates to Deran’s isn’t the sort that goes for complicated mixed things, so that combined with the general competence of the girls he’s working with mean they’ve got a good handle on the orders. A lull hits just after sunset. They’ll have their first big rush of the night soon, riders and the after-work crowd both set to come in. Adrian decides to take his break and heads towards the back, knocking once before letting himself into Deran’s office.

Deran spins in his chair to look at him, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail at the back of his neck. “How’s it going?” he asks.

Adrian shrugs. “It’s going.” He sits on Deran’s desk and looks at the ledger Deran’s been working in. “You?”

“Accounting is hard,” Deran says, groaning. He rolls his chair a little closer to where Adrian is, dropping his head in Adrian’s lap, smothering another groan in Adrian’s jean-clad thigh.

The dramatics of it makes him laugh. He scratches his fingernails against Deran’s scalp. “Wow,” he says, teasing, “it’s almost like people need a degree for that stuff.”

Deran’s phone lights up on the desk with a single vibration. It’s screen-side up and near Adrian’s hip, so it’s easy for him to see the three missed call notifications all from the same person, and a collapsed thread worth of unread texts that he can’t see since the phone’s locked.

Adrian raises his eyebrows. He taps Deran upside the head with one of his knuckles to get him to look to the side, and says, “You owe somebody money or something?”

Deran reaches out and thumbs the screen off with a sigh. “Something like that.” He sits up again and rolls the chair back so that he can stand up. Adrian following him, getting back to his feet. “C’mon,” Deran says. “I’m over this; let’s get back out there.”

They do, and it’s just a few minutes of them getting set up behind the counter before the rush moves in. Deran’s playful, keeps finding excuses to plaster himself against Adrian’s back and pin him in place with his body as he reaches for this bottle or that glass. It’s fun, and it has the time going so much quicker than it’d been when Deran had been back in his office at the start of the shift.

Sometime around midnight, Deran suddenly goes still beside him. “Shit,” he mutters. To Adrian, he says, “I gotta run to the back for a second,” before leaving to do just that.

A man comes up to the bar, looking around.

After a beat, Adrian asks, “Hey man, what can I get you?”

“I’m looking for Deran,” is what he says.

Adrian wonders if this is the guy blowing up Deran’s phone. He doesn’t look especially rough, and the tank top he’s wearing doesn’t reveal any of the usual gang tattoos Adrian’s used to.

And the thing is...he’s cute. It all starts to fall into place for Adrian, and he has to smile. Still, he can tell when he’s supposed to run interference. “He’s not in yet,” Adrian tells him. “I think he mentioned taking the day off? Can I take a message?”

The guy shakes his head. “Not, it’s,” he trails off. “It’s fine.”

“You sure I can’t get you anything?” Adrian asks again, leaning over the counter a little, smiling wider.

He looks tempted for a second, but shakes his head, a wry smile on his own face now. “Just let Deran know someone was looking for him.”

“Will do,” Adrian has to shout it a little, calling after the guy as he walks away. He watches him leave and then taps Lynn on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m gonna grab Deran real quick, yeah?” She nods and says that she’ll cover him.

He doesn’t knock this time. Deran’s back in his chair, smoking a joint and looking bored.

Adrian doesn’t bother playing dumb. “Some dude was looking for you,” Adrian says. “Total babe. You aren’t cheating on that guy, right?”

Deran sighs and takes a hit. “It’s not like that,” he says around an exhale. He holds the joint out between them. Adrian walks over and takes it. “We hung out a little and hooked up a couple times, like a month ago? But that’s it. The one actual date we had was boring as shit.”

“Aren’t you too old to be ghosting people?” Adrian asks, handing it back to him.

Deran takes another hit. “Speak for yourself.”

They quickly finish the joint and then head out front. The cook in the back makes a light dinner for everyone that they each take a quick, separate break to eat, and then it’s back to work. They finish out the night and lock up, Deran tossing Adrian his keys. Adrian drives them back to the house. He’d only been gone a handful of days, but it surprises him to see his backpack still hung beside the door, his board visible out on the deck through the living room window.

“So, like,” Adrian says, figuring that he may as well get this off his chest before he can obsess over it too much. “I know that we’re like, living and working together, but don’t feel like I gotta take over your life too. If you wanna see other guys or whatever, it’s fine. I get it.”

Deran had been walking to the kitchen, but then he stops, turning to look back at Adrian. His face is unreadable, half-hidden in the shadows of the house. “Sure,” he says. “You too. Like, I’m not expecting anything, or whatever.” He doesn’t sound upset, so Adrian takes him at his word, and figures that they’re both on the same page. He doesn’t expect himself to get involved with anyone else anytime soon, so he doesn’t expect that he’ll be testing out Deran’s sincerity on that, even though his willingness to share Adrian has never really flown in the past.

Everything that’s happened hits him hard now that he’s finally back home, and he begs off joining Deran in the kitchen, heading straight for the bedroom. He sheds his clothes and climbs into the shower, not bothering with washing his hair, letting the water do most of the work, moreso than the lazy, soapy rubdown he gives himself to wash the last couple days off of him. He doesn’t put on any clothes, sliding naked between the sheets after he’s done the bare minimum of toweling off.

He falls asleep before Deran comes to bed himself.

When he wakes up the next morning, Deran isn’t beside him. Adrian glances at the clock sat on the bedside table and sees that it’s nearly noon. He pulls on a pair of Deran’s underwear and walks out into the main section of the house, heading for the kitchen.

Deran’s there, fully dressed and drinking a cup of coffee, picking at a near-finished salad on a plate at the island.

“That’s different,” Adrian says, his voice startling Deran. When he looks at him, Adrian nods at his hair. “Not sure Craig’s gonna let you live it down.”

“Craig’s the one who did it.”

Adrian walks over to him and runs his fingers through Deran’s hair, playing with it. The sides are an even length, faded perfectly down to his neck.

“Bullshit,” he says.

“Alright,” Deran admits. “He went with me when I did it, though.” Adrian ducks his head and noses at Deran’s neck, behind his ear, waiting him out. “And yes, he gave me shit about it the entire time.”

Adrian hides his smile against Deran’s skin, presses his laugh there. “Look at you,” he says, pulling back. “Mr. Pays To Get A Haircut.” He runs his fingers through Deran’s hair one last time and then lets it drop back down to his side. With his other hand he takes hold of Deran’s mug. Right before he takes a sip, he says, around the rim, “Mr. Gets a Haircut.”

Deran shrugs, as if his hair hasn’t always been at least to his ears for as long as Adrian has known him. “I was feeling itchy,” he says.

Adrian nods, as if that makes any sense. He figures that Craig’s probably busted his balls enough as it is, though he can’t help but get one last dig in. “I guess I’m just wondering what I’m supposed to hold on to now when you suck my dick.”

The look Deran gives him is sympathetic. He takes his coffee back from Adrian and drains it, setting it and his plate into the sink. He takes his time walking back to Adrian, but once he’s beside him again he moves rapid-quick, yanking down Adrian’s borrowed underwear and picking him up, depositing him on the island.

“Let’s find out,” Deran says, and then he’s swallowing down Adrian’s dick.

Adrian isn’t even hard yet, but Deran gets him there before a minute’s even passed. Adrian kicks his leg against the air until his underwear finally flies off and lets Deran get to work.

He realizes pretty quickly that it’s just as satisfying to tug Deran’s short hair as it had been to yank on it when it was long, and that he’s actually way more prone to digging his fingers into the flesh of Deran’s shoulders than anything else anyway, apparently.

Deran pulls him closer to the edge and then pushes on Adrian’s thighs, bending him in half. He licks Adrian’s balls, moving downwards until he’s licking up inside of him.

“Jesus,” Adrian hisses, eyes clenching shut. He puts both hands behind his knees on instinct, helping to hold himself open. Deran’s the only guy he’s ever been with who does this without being asked.

Deran’s the guy who got Adrian into it in the first place.

“Sorry,” Deran asks, pulling away, “what was that?”

Adrian uses his abs to lift himself up off his back, looking down across his stomach and dick so that Deran can actually see how unamused he is. “I will strangle you to death,” he threatens.

Deran just grins. “Too late,” he says, steepling his fingers on Adrian’s leg where he’s helping Adrian keep himself folded in half, bringing attention to how the insides of his thighs are already clamped tight to the sides of Deran’s face.

Still, he dives back in, licking and sucking and driving Adrian insane.

He comes embarrassingly quick with Deran’s tongue up his ass and hand working his dick.

Afterwards, as Adrian fights to catch his breath, Deran stands back up. His jeans are undone, shoved down his legs, dick bobbing in the air, pushed up a little by the elastic band of his underwear and how it’s shoved just under his balls. He reaches over his shoulder and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it down to the floor, before kicking his jeans and underwear off to join it.

He reaches into a drawer near them and pulls out a condom and a bottle of lube.

“Just when did you set that up?” Adrian laughs, still panting to catch his breath.

Deran rips the wrapper open with his teeth. “Dunno,” he says. “Couple days after you moved in?” he shrugs. “Seemed smart.”

He rolls the condom over the length of his dick and squeezes his fist around the bottle, working a good amount onto himself with his other hand before dropping the lube back into the still-open drawer. He lines himself up and pushes into Adrian, slow, but without pause.

Adrian sighs. He lets go of his knees and grabs on to either side of the counter instead, grounding himself, digging his heels on the surface of it. Deran clamps his lube-slick hand to Adrian’s thigh, the other gripping the edge of the island by Adrian’s ass.

His thrusts are practically strokes, fluid rolls of Deran’s hips pushing him deeper and deeper into Adrian. Having already come, Adrian luxuriates in the feel of it without the immediacy of needing to get off. His dick is still hard, not yet softening, but nowhere close to being able to come again so soon, and he palms himself, holding tight, drawing out the last of his orgasm.

“Harder,” he says.

Deran puts his back into it.

* * *

They’re smoking out on the deck when Deran asks, “You wanna hit the water?”

Neither of them are scheduled to go into the bar, but they’d woken up early anyway and wandered their asses outside to light up and stare at the sunrise as they waited for the buzz to kick in.

“Not really,” Adrian says. “Too high. I’ll watch you though.”

Deran shrugs.

They both change into trunks and walk down to the beach, Adrian with their joint still clasped between his fingers, Deran with his board tucked under his arm.

Adrian watches as Deran wipes out a couple times on some lackluster waves before he gets his legs under him. He’s always loved watching Deran surf, the long line of his body against the curve of the water.

He takes another hit and tries to think of the last time he actually surfed. Had to of been months ago, maybe back before Cody told him to get lost for flaking on the rent.

From off in the water, waiting for another wave to roll in, Deran waves at him. He waves back.

“Bend your fucking knees,” Adrian shouts out. “I feel like I’m watching Juniors!”

Once Deran tires himself out, they head back to the house, both of them trying to fit into the shower at the same time and nearly kneeing one another in the balls half a dozen times for their trouble.

When they get dressed, neither of them bother with shirts. Adrian borrows Deran’s laptop and starts googling while Deran fucks around with the fireplace.

He sits next to Adrian once he’s gotten the fire going, looking at the screen. He whistles. “UCSD, huh?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“I’ve been thinking about going back.”

“Awesome,” Deran says. “Do you —” he cuts himself off. “Uh, do you know what your major’s gonna be.”

“I’ve got some ideas,” Adrian says, even though he doesn’t really. Not anything solid, anyway.

“Cool.” Deran jumps up and raises his hands above his head in a stretch. The lack of a follow up has Adrian wondering if that was what he was originally going to ask or just a cover up, but his attention gets caught in the line of hair disappearing down into the waist of Deran’s pants.

Deran hooks his fingers behind his neck, leaning his head back into his palms. “Hey,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like it’s the first time he’s said it. “Eyes.”

Adrian’s dart up to his face. He doesn’t have it him to blush. “Yes?” he asks.

Deran shakes his head. “You gonna fill out the application right now?”

Shifting the laptop over to a cushion, Adrian shakes his head. “I wasn’t planning on it.” He’s still got about a month before the deadline.

He reaches out and hooks his finger in Deran’s waistband, pulling him closer.

“What do you say about going shopping, then?” Deran asks. “I’m getting tired of having to do laundry twice as often.”

Deran hasn’t done a load of laundry since the first time Adrian had moved in, Adrian having taken it upon himself, seeing as he had been borrowing Deran’s shit.

Still, he has a point. “Sure,” he says, and nips Deran’s stomach.

The gasp Deran huffs out is far breathier than he’d probably like it to be. Adrian smirks as he stands and walks past him, heading into the bedroom to grab them both a shirt.

* * *

“I’ve gotta run,” Deran says to him one night. “Don’t wait up.”

Adrian’s sat on the floor in front of the television, playing a game on Deran’s PS4. He’s distracted when he says, “Yeah, sure thing.” Deran uses one of his fingers to tip Adrian’s face so it’s not so directly pointed at the screen and presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. Adrian kisses back absentmindedly, eyes fixed.

He ’s nearly out the door when Deran’s words actually register. Adrian barely manages to shout out, “Drive safe,” before it closes behind Deran.

The call, when it comes hours later, wakes Adrian up. He doesn’t bother checking the screen when he answers, figuring that it must be his sister, likely calling to freak out over some baby nonsense.

“Can you get to Scripps Mercy?” Craig asks, the second after Adrian’s hit connect. “Deran’s kinda fucked up.”

Adrian has to catch an Uber, but he gets there in about a half an hour.

He tells the duty nurse his name and Deran’s, fibbing that Deran’s his husband. She waves him off to the room they’ve got Deran in without much a fuss.

When they get there he finds Pope, J, and Craig each in different corners of the room, Smurf nowhere to be found, and all of them looking different degrees of guilty when as they watch Adrian appraise the scene. Deran’s propped up in a bed in the middle of the room, his face beat up and turning an ugly shade of purple.

Adrian looks at the lot of them. “So,” he asks to the room at large, “what happened?”

Craig hunches in on himself and stays quiet. J’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket; he pulls it out and leaves the room, closing the door behind himself.

Pope opens his mouth to answer, but Deran beats him to it. “Partially dislocated my hip.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“We’re gonna have to get out of here before the cops show up,” Pope says.

Adrian rolls his lips into his mouth, takes a breath. “Why would the cops show up?”

Pope looks at him like he thinks Adrian’s trying to be cute. “I left Lena with Smurf, but you’re gonna need to tell them that both of you were with us. After Deran got hurt, you took Lena back to Oceanside for her Grandma to watch over, while we took Deran to the hospital.”

“Did I?” Adrian sighs, and focuses on remembering the story, getting his facts straight.

“Yeah,” Pope says. “How’d you get here?”

“Uber.”

Pope nods. “You were too nervous to drive yourself. Worried.”

“Seems legit.”

He gets a pat on his shoulder from Pope as he crosses to the door. Craig trails after him, muttering sorry to Adrian and closing the door again once they’ve left the room.

It’s just him and Deran now.

“Adrian,” he says.

Adrian runs a hand through his hair and looks at him.

There’s a knock at the door, two quick raps and then a uniform walks in.

Adrian turns it on. “Hello, officer.”

The cop looks like he actually feels bad to be there. “Good evening,” he says to Adrian. “Just here as a formality. Do you mind stepping out of the room?”

“He can stay,” Deran tells him.

The cop raises his hands but doesn’t insist. To Deran he asks, “How’d you get these, son?” He points to Deran’s face and then down to his hip, propped up by pillows.

Deran tries to sit up straighter and Adrian rushes to his side, helping him up and repositioning the pillow against his back. “Surfing at night,” Deran says.

“Like an idiot,” Adrian adds. “His brothers started talking shit and they just _had_ to get back on their boards for one last set before we were set to drive back home.”

“The waves weren’t no joke tonight,” Deran complains as if his pride was what took the worst of it, far worse than the injuries.

The cop laughs. “You aren’t wrong. That water can hit you like a ton of bricks.”

There’s knock at the still-open door. Another officer walks in, this one in street clothes, and her face doesn’t have any trace of good humor on it like the uniform does.

“Deran Cody,” she says. “Got a call in from Chula Vista a couple hours ago. You know anything about that?”

“Excuse me?” Deran’s voice goes low, dangerous. “I thought this was a DV screen?”

“It is,” the uniform says, right as she goes, voice full of sarcasm, “Is it?”

They’re clearly at cross purposes, one of them closer to the letter of the law than the other. Adrian doesn’t really give a shit, he’s tired and just found out that Deran’s been lying to him.

“Look,” he says, “I just had to drive my crying niece to Oceanside and then take a forty minute Uber ride right back here with some chatty fuck who smelt like feet. Are you going to arrest him?”

Though it looks like it pains her to say so, she shakes her head.

“Great.” Adrian nods. “So if that’s it, can you go? It’s been a long fucking day that just turned into a longer night, and I’d like to just sit down for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing,” the cop says. He starts herding the detective out of the room. “You two have a good night; don’t let your brothers talk you into this kinda stuff anymore, hey? Listen to this one, sounds like he’s got a good head on his shoulders.” He closes the door behind him when they leave.

Silence stretches across the room.

“I —”

“Just,” Adrian says, “just, don’t.”

He sits down in the chair next to Deran’s bed and folds his arms on the mattress, laying his head on top. “I was fucking dead asleep.”

Deran’s hand comes down to rest in his hair.

He wakes up with a crick in his neck and Pope hovering near the door with a cardboard carrier of iced coffees.

“Morning sunshine,” he says, and Adrian wonders if this is some new breed of nightmare his mind has come up with. “Wake sleeping beauty up; Doctor said he’s good to go as long as he keeps off the leg.” Adrian notices the set of crutches Pope’s got hold of with the hand that isn’t carrying the coffees.

Adrian’s too sleepy and confused to bother with being mean. He scratches Deran’s beard and gets close to his face. “C’mon, D,” he says, voice soft. “Wake up.”

Deran does, and Adrian helps him scoot to the side of the bed. He gets Deran out of his gown and into the pair of sweats and a hoodie that Pope brought with him.

“Let’s go already,” Pope says, hurrying them on. “I hate hospitals.”

“Well if _you_ hate them,” Adrian snarks, and then remembers just who it is he’s talking to. His eyes fly to Pope’s face. Pope’s eyes are hidden behind his shades, but his smile looks more amused than murderous, which is a good sign. Probably.

They take care of the paperwork and the attending doctor insists that Deran has to leave the hospital in a wheelchair, so Adrian rolls him out, their coffees sat in Deran’s lap while Pope idly walks beside them, sipping his and still carrying the crutches.

It takes both of them to get Deran set up in the back seat comfortably with his leg, but all said and done, they’re on the 805 just as it clears of the morning work rush.

When they get back to the house, Deran hobbles in through the front door with the crutches under his arm, refusing both of their offers of help.

“Lay low,” Pope says, and then leaves.

Adrian watches him drive off through the window. “Your brother is such a fucking psychopath.”

Deran lowers himself down onto the couch with a hiss. “Yeah,” he agrees, “He’s always liked you though.”

Adrian has no idea what that says about him, or how Deran can even tell.

He goes into the kitchen and fills a bottle full of water, grabbing a bag of carrots from the fridge and one full of Doritos from the pantry. He puts it all on the living room table and then drags that closer to Deran on the couch.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Deran says. “Thanks.”

Adrian shrugs it off. “Alright, I’m gonna shower and change and then head to the bar.”

“Wait.” Deran pushes himself up onto his elbow. “What?”

“Wednesday’s the day the vendors come by, right?” Deran nods. “Three guesses what today is.”

“Shit,” Deran makes like he’s going to get up. Adrian plants a hand in the center of his chest and forces him back down.

“You can’t do shit with that hip,” Adrian says. “And your face is a mess. Seriously, I got it.”

He runs his hand through Deran’s hair and then heads to the bedroom to get ready.

* * *

Adrian works his full shift after the vendors are sorted and the bar’s restocked. He tells the staff the story about Deran fucking his leg up while surfing, just in case the cops come sniffing around, and they don’t ask any more questions about it. Of course, they wouldn’t think to.

Deran’s their boss, young and understanding, who worked his ass off to have a place to call his own. Their boss, who runs a clean ship with every dime accounted for. Why would they think anything was up?

Adrian certainly hadn’t.

The doctor had said that Deran would need to stick to bed for at least a week, if not two, and even after that he would likely be down for the count with limited mobility for a month or so.

Each night Adrian comes home and finds Daren conked out on the couch. He wakes Deran up and helps shoulder him into bed, feeding him his last pain pill for that day, which should carry him into the next.

One morning he wakes up and feels like he’s been twisted inside out. He still can’t remember the last time he had this urge, but he knows the fix for it just the same.

It’s practically noon when he finally swims back in to the shore. Deran’s sitting on a chair that Adrian’s only seen folded up on the deck. He plants his board in the sand and sits down by Deran’s feet, reaching behind himself to unzip his suit.

“You shouldn’t take the stairs with those things,” he says, nodding to Deran’s crutches laid down by Deran’s feet. “Or walk on sand. Or walk at all.”

Deran rolls his eyes. “Finally felt like hitting the waves again, huh?”

Adrian licks his lips, tastes the salt on them. “I was feeling itchy," he says, eyeing Deran. “You know it’s weird to just watch me surf for, like, hours, right? How long have you been out here?”

Deran snorts and throws the towel he’s got in his lap at him. Adrian hadn’t bothered bringing one down with him when he’d set out; he rubs his face a few times and then drapes it over his shoulders to help fight back the chill.

They sit there for a while, watching the water come in and out. It’s cold out and the waves are choppy, so there’s hardly anyone in the surf or near their end of the beach, even.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were still running jobs?” Adrian asks.

Deran’s hands twist up into fists against his thighs. “You seemed really into the idea of me going straight.”

Adrian laughs; Deran glares at him. “Sorry,” he says. “I just,” Adrian rubs a hand across his stubble and shakes his head. “Deran, when have I ever given a shit about the shit you and your family get up to? Get out, stay in — I don’t give a fuck.”

“Why have you been shutting me out then?” Deran says it all in a rush. “Why are you pissed?”

“Because you fucking lied to me.” Adrian pinches him on his good leg, not nearly as hard as he wants to. “Since when do we do that? You’ve never kept a secret from me in your life, you gossipy asshole.”

Deran’s expression folds in on itself. He tips his head forward like he still expects his hair to hide him, but he’s exposed to Adrian’s steady gaze. “I wanted to be someone,” he trails off, searching for whatever it is he wants to say, “new,” he eventually settles on, “for you. To prove I was past all the past shit. And I am,” he insists, “I’m just still working through it. I do my own jobs sometimes, and help out with J’s jobs when they really need me. But you saw how it is; most of the time it’s just me and the bar.”

“Then why not just say that?” Adrian asks.

“Because I’m stupid?” Deran shakes his head. “Isn’t that why this never worked out to begin with?”

“You’re not,” Adrian starts, but then changes his mind. “Being your secret got old,” he says. “You’re chill now. Yeah, I’d rather you not risk your neck for whatever bullshit Smurf’s trying to drag you guys into, but I get it. It’s not just her, it’s your brothers.” He shakes his head. ”My family sucks, too. And I’ve spent the last year stressed the fuck out that I’d get caught with enough coke in my boards to kill a horse. So, yeah.”

“Don’t turn this into a contest,” Deran warns. He’s smiling. “Because I’ll win.”

“Fuck you.” Adrian grabs Deran’s crutches and stands, pulling his arms from the sleeves of his suit, bunching it around his waist. “Alright, fuck it.” He sticks his hand out to Deran, helping him up. “I’m over it.”

Adrian folds up the chair and carries it and the towel as they head back to the stairs. He leaves the chair and tries to help Deran crutch his way up the steps, but it’s slow going and by the time they reach the first landing, they both have to stop to catch both their breaths.

“How in the fuck did you get down there by yourself?” Adrian asks.

“Shut up.”

Adrian loses his breath again, wheezing out laughter at how red-faced and winded Deran is.

“Seriously,” Deran says, “Stop it.” He kicks at Adrian with his good leg. “Oh,” he says, “Are you still thinking about college?”

“Yeah?” Adrian turns back around and jogs down the steps, grabbing the chair and bringing it up to where Deran’s at. Intending to leave it on the landing until he can come back out later and bring it up fully. “I sent in my app earlier this week.”

Deran nods. “Sweet,” he says. “When you get in, I wanna help float you for whatever the grants and shit don’t cover, is that alright?”

It’s — a lot to process. Instead of answering, Adrian says, ”When? Don’t you mean if?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Deran shakes his head. “Let me do this, okay? I know you won’t be able to on your own, not with what I’m paying you.”

“You tip me, like, a hundred a night out of your own pocket,” Adrian argues. “Like some weird, pimpy sugar daddy.” Some things suddenly make a lot more sense in his mind. “Are you using the bar to launder some of your shit?”

Deran doesn’t bother looking caught out. “I wanna do this, come on.”

Adrian sighs and says, “You don’t have to do this to prove that you’re sorry,” Deran looks like he wants to interrupt, so he raises his voice louder as he adds, “for the lying shit, or anything else. Seriously, I can live with some student loans.”

“I wanna do this,” Deran says again.

“Fine,” Adrian says, but he cuts off Deran’s celebratory whoop before it can get past where Adrian can spot it building in his throat. “We’ll see what happens if I get in. I might swing a full scholarship and not even need your money.”

“Alright, let's not get crazy.”

Adrian kicks one of Deran’s crutches. “Fuck you,” he laughs. “Aren’t you even gonna ask what my major will be?”

“What?” Deran gets his feet back under him and takes a tighter grip of the handles on his crutches.

“I’m thinking Accounting.”

“Shit,” Deran says, dragging out the vowel. “You’re gonna end up being my sugar daddy. This might be my best investment yet.”

Adrian shoves him from behind. “Yeah, you wish,” he says. “Can we focus on the now, please? My balls are about to freeze off; let’s just work on getting your fat ass up these fucking stairs.”

Somehow, they do manage to reach the fucking deck before the sun is gone, even sweatier than they’d been at the landing, though there are fewer steps on flight leading to the house than there is from the sand to the midway stretch they’d first stopped at. “Fuck me,” Adrian says, mopping down his face with the towel, before handing it to Deran to do the same. He should have left that chair on the godforsaken beach.

“You want water?” Deran offers. “Coffee?”

Adrian nods a few times before he gets up the energy to actually reply. “Sure.” He pushes his suit the rest of the way off, leaving it on the floor of the kitchen, glad to be out of it and into the cold air of the house. “I’ll make it.”

Deran crutches his way to the island and half-sits, half-stands on the stool, his leg extended next to him. “So you’re just gonna walk around naked,” he says, “making me coffee?”

Adrian shrugs, “I mean, not if you’re gonna bitch about it.”

“Who’s bitching?” Deran asks, and he props his head up on his hands where they’re folded on the counter, his eyes not straying from Adrian for a second.

**Author's Note:**

> happy yuletide, dsidhe! inspiration struck me when you asked if these two nerds would ever get out of their life and my mind came up with this divergence where Adrian went through this drug-runner drama by himself during Season 2, so Season 3 was their reunion. it was a joy to write for you! many, many thanks to lynn for the beta.


End file.
